


Like the Stars

by shineebigbang



Category: SHINee
Genre: Angst, M/M, Major Character Death Before Beginning of Story, Mild Sexual Content, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 18:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11973024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineebigbang/pseuds/shineebigbang





	Like the Stars

Jonghyun follows Sodam to school every morning. He thinks it's a habit. They used to walk to school together when he was alive, after all. It would honestly make more sense for him to follow Jinki, who is only eleven and arguably in more need of Jonghyun's supervision than Sodam, but he goes to school with her anyway. She was supposed to graduate last year and had already been accepted into a prestigious university, if Jonghyun remembers correctly, yet she's still a senior. He's been able to piece together what happened: her grades dropped so much that she decided to repeat the year with the honors and grades she deserved. Grief and straight-A's don't usually go together.

 

It's about a five minute walk from their house to the high school, and Sodam has worked her time management to an art. She usually walks into her first class less than a minute before the bell rings. Before, she liked coming to school early so she could lean against a wall in the hallway and gossip with her friends over pre-packaged coffee.  But her friends have all graduated, and four years in high school is bad enough.

 

She and Jonghyun arrive to class as perfectly-timed as usual, the other students still milling about and talking while the teacher scrawls the day's schedule on the whiteboard. Sodam waves a half-hearted hello to a few girls Jonghyun had math class with last year. He used to catch one girl staring at him at least once every class period.

 

In fact, Jonghyun knows virtually every student in the class. Repeating a year means Sodam is now graduating when Jonghyun should have. He had been relieved to find that the entire graduating class was treating her well, inviting her to study groups and parties and being generally amiable and accepting.

 

The bell rings overhead and the students slowly head into their seats.

 

There are no empty seats near Sodam, and while Jonghyun certainly could just sit on a desk or even on the lap of that hot guy with the partially-shaved head, he instead settles into the teacher's chair in the back.

 

Staring over the class as the students mingle with one another, a memory begins to scratch at the back of Jonghyun’s mind. The first time he had gone to school with Sodam had been dizzying. He had been lucky, really, that he had "woken up," on a Friday after everyone had come home. That had given him the entire weekend to process what had happened to him: why no one looked at him and why he phased through walls and even the floor if he didn't focus. When Monday arrived, he found himself walking with Sodam to the high school, like he did before. Like when he was alive. He walked behind her, waited at the crosswalk, whistled, and stepped to the side for cyclists like he was alive.

 

But when he entered the school, it became impossible to lie that he was anything but dead. Students slid through his body like a fish through water, each time sending a spark of discomfort to the base of his spine. He lost Sodam in the confusion of it all, and, when the bell for class rang, found himself alone, wandering the hallways, sobbing, and peeking into individual classrooms until he finally found his sister.

 

He cried for the rest of the day, tears renewed every time he saw a teacher he knew or a classmate he had spoken to. None of them looked at him, and he watched them all as he watched them now, like there was a one-way mirror between them with no door between their adjacent rooms.

 

He is now used to how everyone ignores him. The people who had let him borrow pencils. Who had bought his cupcakes and cookies when he had his mini bakesales for the local animal shelter. They now walk past him, through him. Sometimes look right into his goddamn eyes but don't see him. Sitting at the back of the classroom seems to help. It makes him feel less involved--an outsider, an observer. Which was what he now is. He's used to it.

 

Actually, Jonghyun is only used to it when he doesn't think about it too much.

 

The teacher calls the class into silence and reaches out to the table in front of him, producing a manila folder from a pile of papers and textbooks. The whole class lets out an exasperated groan. Pop-quiz time.

 

Sodam barely reacts. She probably already knows the material inside and out by now.

 

As the teacher begins to hand out the quizzes, Jonghyun pushes himself back onto his feet. "I'll come back soon, Sodam," he says, making his way over to the classroom door. She doesn't hear him, and he knows that, but he says it anyway. "Don't have much interest in waiting around for your classmates to finish a quiz."

 

Sodam taps her pencil eraser against the desk as the teacher hands her the quiz.

 

Jonghyun walks through the closed door and into the school hallway. He lets out a sigh, already bored. School had been difficult when he was alive, but classes are exponentially more boring as a ghost. There is no one to text sneakily under his desk, no notes to quickly scribble down, no anxiety over avoiding the teacher's gaze when he doesn't know the answer.

 

Jonghyun's thoughts are cut off by the sound of rapid footsteps. He turns his head just in time to see a boy turn around the corner, tearing down the hallway toward Jonghyun. Jonghyun stares confusedly at the boy, whose face is red and mouth open as he sucks in air. The boy decelerates, landing more heavily on each foot until he reaches a classroom door. It is only when the boy has opened the door and stepped inside with a soft apology that Jonghyun realizes he definitely knows him.

 

"Fuck," Jonghyun mutters, running a hand through his hair as he stares at the classroom door, mind whirring. "I know him. I fucking know him."

 

Jonghyun turns his head to the corner where the boy had appeared, replaying the scene in his mind. How the boy had almost fallen from turning that corner so hard, how his shoes had squeaked against the floor, how his face had been marked with what seemed to be pain. 

 

Unthinking, Jonghyun twists on his heel and begins walking forward. It takes only a moment for him to be at a full sprint, his white Converse slipping against the smooth tile of the school floor. Soon he is panting, air scratching at his throat and his lungs struggling for the oxygen to push himself forward.

 

Running hurts. Even dead.  His muscles begin to ache as he sprints straight through the door leading outside. He huffs for air, his ribcage contracting as a steady burn begins in his calves. The air in his throat is burning now, too--it's only March, so everything is dry and cold and uncomfortable. His eyes flash upward to the cloudy and gray sky above, and when he looks back down he is on the sidewalk beside the road, still racing forward.

 

He makes out a figure fifty or so yards ahead on the path walking away from him. Jonghyun doesn't think much of it until that distance is halved, and he finds himself slowing to a walk. His heart is still hammering in his chest and the figure is broad-shouldered and wearing a leather jacket. Something scratches at the back of his mind and the figure is tall and black-haired. Jonghyun's veins burst with shock and joy and the figure is puffing smoke from a cigarette between his fingers.

 

"M-Minho!"

 

The figure turns around and Jonghyun freezes.

 

"Jonghyun?"

 

It's Minho. Minho's broad shoulders and Minho's worn leather jacket and Minho's cheap cigarette. He is standing on the sidewalk, close enough that Jonghyun can make out the confused V of his brow and the thin tendril of smoke curling up from the cigarette. 

 

"You..." Jonghyun puffs, breathing still strained from his sprint. "You can see me?"

 

Minho nods.

 

Jonghyun swallows thickly. "H-how?"

 

Biting down on his lip, Minho inhales audibly through his nose. "If it helps, I'm shocked that you can see me, too."

 

"Fuck," swears Jonghyun. "So you're..."

 

His voice trails off but Minho understands, and he nods.

 

Jonghyun drops his gaze to his shoes, closing his eyes tightly to keep the sudden tears gathering in his eyes from escaping. He sniffles, his throat already beginning to burn.

 

Before the tears squeeze their way through Jonghyun's eyelids, Minho is wrapping his arms around Jonghyun, patting his back.

 

Jonghyun inhales sharply. "S-sorry. I just... I thought that you were okay."

 

He feels Minho sigh against him. "It's okay. It's not like I haven't cried over it either."

 

Jonghyun snorts, raising a hand to wipe his tears before pushing Minho playfully away. Minho stays beside him, keeps one hand squarely between Jonghyun's shoulder blades. "H-how long have you..." Jonghyun begins, voice shrinking into nothing as he realizes he really doesn't want to put words to the question.

 

Again, Minho understands. "I don't really know, to be honest. I think I passed away a while ago, but I only woke up about two months ago—I was just lying in bed. I kept waking up but it always felt wrong, like getting up before your alarm. So I kept going back to sleep, until one day I actually looked at the time and… Got up.”

 

Jonghyun swallows again, pushing down the lump that had been twisting in his throat. He wipes a stray tear from his cheek. “I did the same thing. It’s been two months for me, too.”

 

Silence worms its way between the two. Cars whizz by carelessly on the street and Jonghyun watches them pass. Minho's hand is warm against his back, his fingers sturdy yet comforting. Jonghyun realizes now how much he fucking missed the other boy.

 

The two had been friends since eighth grade when they had both gotten stuck in detention--Jonghyun for putting aluminum foil in the cafeteria microwave, even though it was an accident; Minho for pulling the fire alarm to get out of a math test. Fifteen minutes into detention, the teacher had fallen asleep at their desk and Minho's fingers were tapping Jonghyun's shoulder. "Hey, do you know how to play poker?"

 

Their friendship quickly evolved from card games to joint study sessions to sleepovers, and soon enough Jonghyun realized that Minho was the best friend Jonghyun had. Sure, he wasn't the kind of friend to do a group project with, nor the one to see movies with (he would get bored thirty minutes in and throw popcorn in the air and try to catch it with his mouth); but he was a good friend regardless. His sleeping schedule was just as fucked as Jonghyun's, so he was always awake and willing to talk if Jonghyun needed it. He was just a good listener, would watch Jonghyun with his chin in one hand, so focused Jonghyun had sometimes thought the rest of the world must cease existing whenever he was talking seriously with Minho.

 

And when Jonghyun was sixteen, he realized he wanted Minho to be more than just his best friend.

 

Jonghyun had realized he was gay just weeks before he and Minho had met, but frankly he wasn't sure about Minho. Unless Jonghyun had brought it up, they never talked about dating or sex, and even then the conversation was always about whatever boy Jonghyun thought was sending him signals or whatever boy to whom Jonghyun was giving signals. The two were very close, but Minho never shared such information unless Jonghyun expressly asked for it.

 

"It's not that I'm keeping stuff from you," Minho had explained over a year and a half ago, putting out a cigarette with his shoe as Jonghyun finished his coffee outside of a Starbucks. "But I'd rather let our conversations be about more than what we did over the weekend, you know? For right now, all my relationships are just who I'm doing over the weekend."

 

Jonghyun's epiphany had occurred when he realized there might be a reason he didn’t start asking who Minho was doing over the weekend.

 

"Do you want to go to my place?"

 

Minho's voice pulls Jonghyun back into reality, and he looks up to see Minho pointing a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Minho's own house.

 

Jonghyun swallows thickly. "You can stand being home?"

 

Minho looks at him confusedly, brows drawn together. "What do you mean?"

 

"During school," Jonghyun explains. "I... I can't do it. Stay at home alone while Mom’s at work and Jinki and Sodam are at school."

 

Minho's features relax in understanding. "Ah, no. I don't mean my house-house, but the pond. I usually spend the days there."

 

"I, um, I..." Jonghyun stutters. "I usually stay at school though."

 

"Why?"

 

The question forces itself into Jonghyun's bloodstream like tiny pebbles that rattle against his insides. "Sodam," he replies simply.

 

Minho removes his hand from Jonghyun's back to look at him directly. Jonghyun hates it. "Jjong, you know that she'll be alright by herself, right?"

 

Jonghyun bites down on his lip. "I've been going to school with her every day."

 

"She'll be alright," Minho says, his voice soft and reassuring. Jonghyun's heart twists in on itself because Minho's eyes are soft, too.

 

"I don't know how you can say that when we're both dead and we don't know why." Jonghyun doesn't know where that comment came from but he regrets it from the moment he gives it voice. His mind scrambles for some sort of defense, but Minho is faster.

 

"I know how I died."

 

Jonghyun blinks. "W-what?"

 

"I don't remember it, but I know how." 

 

"H-how...?"

 

Minho takes a half-step backward. "I'll show you."

 

Hesitating, Jonghyun stares up at Minho, uncertainty twisting in his abdomen. Minho stares down at him and his eyes are sure and unwavering.

 

Jonghyun exhales softly. "We'll come back before school ends, right?"

 

"Sure. I'll walk you back here myself."

 

Jonghyun holds Minho’s gaze and something crawls up his spine. It settles at the base of his skull. “Okay,” he mutters. Then, collecting himself, continues more certainly. “But we have to be back here in time, got it?”

 

Minho huffs. “Of course.” He cocks his head in the direction of his house as he steps to the side. so there’s enough room for them to beside one another. “Let’s go.”

 

As they walk, Jonghyun’s unease only to continues to grow and tighten around his brain. In the months since he has woken up, Jonghyun has not even once left his house without a family member. He is barely comfortable with sitting alone in his own bedroom. At night, when the house is silent and everyone else asleep, he sometimes stares out windows and tells himself he could go somewhere. For a few hours, come back in time for breakfast.

 

There is an Ihop, open twenty-four hours, just a ten minute walk from where he lives. Sure, he couldn’t eat or interact with anyone, but it would certainly be more interesting than a dark and miserable house.

 

And there is a twenty-four hour grocery store in the same shopping center; he could walk down its aisles and watch the lobsters scuttle about in their tank, follow around living customers and guess their lives from what goods they put in their carts.

 

And there is Minho’s pond, and Minho’s house. Minho who stay up late at night, Minho could entertain him through his video games or whatever he happens to be watching on TV. He could sit next to Minho on his bed in his messy room, even sling an arm over Minho’s waist when he finally decides to sleep.

 

That last thought occurs often to Jonghyun at night, but he never dares to actually carry it through.

 

He knows now that the Minho he would have potentially met would be a ghost, too.

 

Jonghyun is so lost in his thoughts he does not notice Minho had led him directly into a house until he is phasing through a mahogany coffee table. He stops in his tracks.

 

“W-what are we doing in here?” he asks, shocked.

 

Minho, stilling his own feet, looks back at him. “We’re taking the fastest route. Straight. Like the crow flies.”

 

“But this is someone’s house!”

 

“And we’re ghosts,” Minho replies, mimicking Jonghyun’s shocked tone. “No one can see us, Jjong.”

 

“I… I still don’t like it.” Jonghyun’s voice is small, shrinking in on itself with each word.

 

“Okay,” Minho breathes in reply. “We won’t cut through any houses anymore.”

 

Jonghyun hesitates. “No backyards, either.”

 

Minho nods numbly. “No backyards,” he repeats dryly.

 

They set off again, turning onto the sidewalk once they exit the house. Minho has increased the distance between him and Jonghyun, now a good four or five steps ahead of him. Jonghyun crosses his arms over his chest, pinching the soft fabric of his sweater and rubbing it between his fingers as he watches Minho’s form.

 

After a while, Minho produces a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Jonghyun’s heart pulses with shock—Minho shouldn’t be able to hold things, if he’s like Jonghyun. Jonghyun could not even pick up so much a pencil. Get a grip on it, sure, but actually moving things is beyond Jonghyun’s ability now. He had noticed the cigarette before, but only now, after watching Minho slide through walls and incoming passerby, did the oddity of the situation occur to him.

 

“How are you doing that?”

 

“Hmm?” Minho purses his lips around the cigarette as he flicks the lighter to life, searing the end of the cigarette. The lighter is Minho’s prized possession, and he’s said so many times, but Jonghyun isn’t exactly sure why, as its just a cheap silver lighter one could purchase at virtually any gas station.

 

“The cigarette.” Jonghyun clarifies as he rushes around a swing set, trying to catch up to Minho. “And how do you get the lighter to work? Why does it turn on for you?”

 

“I woke up with them,” Minho replies with a puff of smoke. “In my pockets.” He reaches into one of his jean back pockets to show Jonghyun the cigarette pack. It is rather worn, the top flap beginning to soften at the edges and half-bent on one side. Minho opens it with his opposite hand: empty.

 

“It’s only got one cigarette,” he explains, tucking the box back into his pocket. “But the second I stomp it out, it reappears in the box as though I hadn’t smoked it.”

 

“Weird,” Jonghyun says with a frown. “Is there anything else in your pockets?”

 

Minho pulls the cigarette from his lips, letting out a smoky exhale as though to hide his strained face from Jonghyun. Jonghyun knows that face, and it’s not one Minho makes often. “Yeah,” he mutters tersely.

 

“Yeah?” Jonghyun repeats. “What is it?”

 

Minho takes a long drag. “A condom.”

 

Jonghyun’s core chills, coldness spreading through his body. “U-used?”

 

“Of course not,” Minho retorts instantaneously.

 

Jonghyun whistles lowly, hoping the action will somehow untie the knots forming in his insides. He knows Minho was no stranger to sex, he had known it for a while now and this really shouldn’t be bothering him. It’s nothing new.

 

An awkward silence has fallen over the two as they cross a street—Minho does not even bother to check the light before stretching his legs. “Well,” Jonghyun says too loudly, “at least you were practicing safe sex.”

 

Minho snorts in reply.

 

Jonghyun spends the rest of their walk focusing on his intestines. It is easier than watching Minho cross streets without looking, and he does not want Minho to see his distress.

 

_ Minho doesn’t think of me that way. He doesn’t and he never will. _

 

When they arrive at the pond, Minho drops his cigarette butt onto the grass and for a second Jonghyun wants to scold him, his emotional distress replaced by the sudden but overpowering fear of an actual fire. But Minho lifts his shoe and the cigarette is completely gone, leaving Jonghyun to mentally kick himself on account of his own stupidity.

 

The pond is an almost perfect circle, and it sits about thirty feet behind Minho’s house. It is the kind of pond that begs for couples to skate on its frozen surface in winter and teenagers to slide into it in nothing but bare skin in summer. The thought that Minho has gone skinny-dipping there with someone scratches against Jonghyun's skull.

 

It’s technically not their property, but that fails to prevent the Choi family from claiming it as their own. They had even build a swinging bench, on its opposite side, facing both the pond and back of the house. It is lavender, repainted religiously each spring, and well-oiled and cared for so that it makes only a soft, almost-comforting squeak each time it rocks.

 

As they walk past the bench now, Jonghyun’s heart tightens in his chest. He and Minho had sat on it before, a bowl of popcorn or empty cans of beer between them and each time Jonghyun had wished that Minho would close that distance. Sit so close to them their thighs would touch, and he would wrap his arm around Jonghyun’s waist and Jonghyun could rest his head against Minho’s shoulder and—

 

“Here it is,” Minho announces.

 

They are standing outside of one of the Choi family’s garage-shed. Jonghyun turns to Minho and blinks, confused.

 

Minho motions toward the garage door. “How I died. It’s in there.”

 

Although they were so clear, so directed, Jonghyun does not understand immediately. It takes a while for the words to process.

 

“Oh,” he exhales finally.

 

Minho’s voice is low. “It’s alright if you’ve changed your mind. It’s still kind of jarring for me, too.”

 

Jonghyun shakes his head. “No, I want to know.”

 

He has no idea where this confidence suddenly came from,but it is rushing through his veins like lightning. Confidence tinged with silvery, frigid unease. Or maybe it’s fear.

 

He is just as dead as Minho, and he knows that. He had accepted not-knowing how he died weeks ago. He had lost all curiosity surrounding his death; a gnawing fear of everything is all that remains.

 

Minho, on the other hand, knows his death. From his posture—relaxed shoulders, weight distributed unevenly on his hips—he has probably known for a while.

 

“I’ll lead the way, I guess,” mumbles Minho, straightening. Jonghyun watches him walk through the garage door and, taking a deep breath of his own and silencing the worried, nagging voices pulling at his mind as though with strings, follows.

 

It is not Jonghyun’s first time inside this shed, which used to belong to Minho’s father until he passed it onto his son along with the family Buick, a good decade older than Minho himself. The car and the shed were a package deal, as the car was only able to travel with the aid of persistent and compassionate maintenance. Minho’s father is a handyman and car-fanatic, and Minho, while perhaps not the most interested in mechanics are cars, had accepted both presents with vigor.

 

“A shitty car is better than no car,” he had stated once as he fixed the brakes for the millionth time in this very shed, Jonghyun propped up on the work bench and watching the muscles in Minho’s arms and back tighten and relax as he worked.

 

Entering the garage now, Jonghyun’s eyes fall immediately on the Buick. “Fuck.”

 

The entire left side of the vehicle was crushed. The impact had been direct and left behind a massive crater between the two doors on the drivers side. It was now just barely open but probably could neither shut nor open properly anymore. The glass had been removed from the driver’s window, through which the interior of the car looked relatively intact.

 

“Fuck Minho,” Jonghyun exhaled again, turning away from the car to face his friend, who is leaning against the work bench. “Fuck.”

 

Minho sighs, folding his arms over his chest. “Yeah,” he breathes. “It speaks for itself, doesn’t it?”

 

Jonghyun swallows thickly, tense knots forming in his chest and back. “What do you think happened?”

 

“Looks like I got tee-boned.”

 

They are silent for a while. Jonghyun’s lungs curl in on themselves as his eyes settle back on the car. The car Minho most likely died in. His tongue is heavy in his mouth, but somehow he says thoughtlessly, “they never fixed it.”

 

Minho had probably not been expecting him to speak, as it takes him a moment to reply. “Yeah.”

 

Jonghyun’s hands tighten into fists, something solid and smooth taking shape in the center of his chest. He faces Minho once more, who looks at him somewhat confusedly, and then charges forward. When he reaches the workbench, Jonghyun pushes up onto his toes so wrap his hands around Minho’s waist. He presses his face into Minho’s chest and inhales, the powerful scent of tobacco twisting offensively in his nostrils, but he ignores it.

 

“I’m sorry, Min.”

 

Minho is still and Jonghyun feels his heart hammering in his chest. He could will it to stop. That’s the way it works now: he can start and stop his heart at will, never breathe again if he so wishes it, but he lets it pound madly against Minho’s chest. He wants Minho to feel it, his desperation his need his fear, the desire coursing hotly through him. The desire to take Minho’s death away.

 

When Minho speaks, he raises a hand to the center of Jonghyun’s back, sliding it slowly upward to rest between his shoulder blades. “It’s alright,” he mumbles. “I’m used to it now.”

 

Jonghyun’s head snaps upward. “B-but Minho—”

 

Minho ignores him, instead pushing off the workbench and almost knocking Jonghyun over. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He cocks his head toward the door. “We have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we?”

 

Jonghyun pushes his heart downward and nods. It is not beating anymore.

 

They end up sitting on the swinging bench by the lake. There is no alcohol or snacks between them now but they still sit as though there is. Jonghyun pushes his legs up onto the bench, wrapping an arm loosely around them. Minho is at the opposite end.

 

When the bench begins to swing with that familiar squeal, Jonghyun immediately leaps to his feet. His eyes, wide with shock, settle onto Minho’s. Minho is staring up at Jonghyun confusedly, his heels digging into the ground to hold the bench at an angle. “What?”

 

“H-how are you doing that?” Jonghyun asks incredulously.

 

Minho shrugs. “I dunno, I can just move this.” He nods in the direction of his house. “This and the backdoor, if it’s already open. I can make it sway.” 

 

“But how?”

 

“I touch them…?” Minho answers, voice trailing off. “Can’t you move anything, Jonghyun?”

 

“Of course not,” Jonghyun grumbles, settling back on the bench. He props an elbow on the armrest and leans his chin into it. He stares out at the pond. Minho does not start swinging the bench again for a while.

 

“What about pencils and stuff?” Minho asks finally. “Like, if they’re half-way off of a table or something?”

 

Jonghyun shakes his head. “Nope.” He keeps his eyes trained ahead, trying to ignore the jealousy hissing in his bloodstream. If Jonghyun could move things, even just a little bit, his family would all know he was there. They wouldn’t have to ignore him anymore, and they could talk to him and he back, even if only through falling pens and moving doors. They could know he was there; he could really be there.

 

“I guess I’m a more powerful ghost than you are.”

 

Jonghyun turns to Minho, who is snickering behind his hand.

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Ah, don’t be upset,” says Minho teasingly, bending his legs and pushing the bench off the ground so powerfully Jonghyun yelps in fear. Minho only laughs as the bench seems to hiccup, pushing back upward when it reaches the end of its chain. He reaches a hand out to the frame to still the bench before pushing himself forward next to Jonghyun.

 

“You’re a dick,” Jonghyun groans, pushing Minho away.

 

Minho snorts as he reaches into his pocket for his cigarette. Once he has it lit and has taken a long, satisfying drag, he asks, “So, why were you running earlier? When we met outside of the school?”

 

Jonghyun’s cheeks flare. “I just,” he begins uncertainly. “I saw some kid running late—literally running, I mean—inside of the building, and, I dunno, I realized I hadn’t run in such a long time.”

 

“Do you mean Kibum?”

 

A part of Jonghyun’s part sparks back to life. “Oh my god, that was Kibum! I knew I recognized him from somewhere.” A smile grows on Minho’s face and Jonghyun grins back. “How is he?”

 

“He’s alright,” Minho says with a shrug. “He’s made a habit of showing up late to school, but that gives me enough time to walk Taemin to his school, come back and then walk Kibum.”

 

“Oh that’s right, Taemin’s in eighth grade now, isn't he?”

 

“Yep,” replies Minho, smiling into his cigarette. “How are Sodam and Jinki doing?”

 

Jonghyun scratches at his cheek. “They’re alright. Sodam decided to repeat her senior year, and Jinki is in fifth grade now. He’s the smartest kid in his class, smarter than me probably.”

 

Minho laughs. "Yeah, that sounds like the kid."

 

Silence falls over them and Jonghyun's mind slides into his memories. Minho had walked home with Jonghyun and Sodam one day and all three were greeted immediately by Jinki, holding a certificate for his class spelling bee with a toothy and proud smile. He had hugged all three of them in turn, quivering excitedly in their arms.

 

Jonghyun misses holding his brother.

 

Minho begins to swing the bench again and Jonghyun leans into it. Its soft groans wrap around his mind, pressing the memory out of his mind as this moment resumes its place as reality. The sound sends a gooey warmth down his veins. He imagines it is Minho’s warmth that he’s feeling.

 

**

 

They pass the time swinging on Minho’s bench talking about their family. When they get bored of that, they walked around and did much of the same. They have lots to talk about, unsurprisingly, and the conversation smoothly transitions and morphs eventually into a syrupy curiosity that slides down Jonghyun’s throat.

 

The last thing Jonghyun remembers in an English test. Whether he had already taken it and was concerned for his grade or if it was lingering in the future after his death, he wasn’t sure. He just knows he was worrying about it.

 

Minho thinks he was going to a party. But he’s not sure, either.

 

As promised, they arrive at the school before classes end. Minho follows Jonghyun to Sodam’s classroom. Outside of her classroom door, Jonghyun turns on his heel to face Minho. He opens his mouth to speak but Minho beats him.

 

“We should hang out more often.” 

 

Jonghyun laughs. “Yeah.”

 

Minho swings one foot backward. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. This was better than sitting in class with your sister, right?”

 

“Don’t be so cocky,” Jonghyun replies, grinning.

 

Minho huffs, turns on his heel, and leaves.

 

Jonghyun is watching him walk away as he takes out a cigarette and lights it inside of a school building. Before Minho turns the corner, the bell rings and his form is swallowed by dozens of living students flooding into the hallway.

 

He walks home with Sodam, a few steps behind her on the sidewalk. The music pumping from her earbuds is so loud Jonghyun can hear it clearly. Under normal circumstances, he would have grabbed her phone and turned the volume down himself, but all he can do now is frown.

 

He recalls Minho’s ability to swing the bench, and, steeling himself, reaches out a hand toward the thin, white wire dangling from her ear. Taking the phone would probably be too difficult, but, if Minho can knock over pencils and move doors, Jonghyun should be able to pull a wire.

 

Wrapping his fingers around the wire, Jonghyun bites his lip and yanks it downward. It does not budge.

 

Jonghyun hides his hands in his pockets and the two continue walking home; one replacing loneliness with music and the other pretending the footsteps he’s hearing are his own.

 

Sodam has barely put her key into the lock when the door swings open, revealing Jinki smiling broadly up at her. “Sodam! Can you make me a snack?”

 

Sodam, pulling her earbuds out and wrapping precisely them around her phone, giggles and enters the house. “I don’t even get a proper hello anymore?”

 

Jinki shuts the door, which Jonghyun is only halfway through. He panics and rushes forward, phasing through both his brother and sister in the process.

 

“Please?”

 

“Fine,” Sodam exhales, resting her backpack on the floor and making her way to the kitchen, both younger brothers at her heels.

 

The rest of the day passes as per usual. It is a Thursday, which means their mother will not be home until late. Jinki, Sodam and Jonghyun crowd around the living room TV to watch a marathon of Jinki’s favorite cartoon as the kid scoops up refrigerated guacamole with a chip. 

 

Once the current episode ends, Sodam pushes herself from the couch. “I’m going into my room,” she announces. “Make sure you clean up, and do your homework eventually.”

 

“Okay,” Jinki replies, his eyes focused on the television screen.

 

Jonghyun stays with him, careful not to lean back into the couch cushion for fear that he’ll literally slide into it. After Jinki finishes his snack he runs off to get his backpack and does his homework during the commercials, much to Jonghyun’s bemusement.

 

Jonghyun asks Jinki about his day, if he likes all his classes, how all his friends are. Jinki watches the TV. 

 

**

 

Their mother comes home at eight with take-out, which she gives to her children before heading upstairs to shower. Sodam and Jinki eat in front of the TV again, watching a mindless action movie as they shovel fries into their faces. When she finishes eating, Sodam returns to her bedroom again to shower and Jonghyun follows. He lies on her bed on his side and closes his eyes, listening to the soft thrums of water hitting tile.

 

The water shuts off after ten or so minutes, but Jonghyun keeps his eyes closed as she enters her bedroom and readies herself for bed. He does not open them again until he feels the bed give way to her weight. Dressed in an old tee and sweatpants, she reclines against her pillows and sighs.

 

Jonghyun pushes up onto his elbows, reading her twitter feed as she scrolls down. Once she bores of that, she opens up a sudoku app and Jonghyun falls back onto the pillows. Accidentally sliding past the pillow and into the mattress itself, springs digging into his cheeks, Jonghyun pushes himself back up with a gasp.

 

They used to talk a lot like this, lying on Sodam’s bed. Except she wouldn’t be looking at her phone, but mirroring his position so the two were facing each other on the bed.

 

Sodam knows that Jonghyun lost his virginity to the captain of the basketball team when he was fifteen. Jonghyun knows that Sodam cast the final vote to kick her own friend off the student council. Sodam knows that Jonghyun has a crush on Minho and no intention to ever voice his feelings, and Jonghyun knows that Sodam needs to tell their mother she's a lesbian.

 

“I met Minho today,” he mumbles to her. He tries to imagine the pillow cover fluttering with his breath, and he imagines Sodam turning to him, her brows furrowed just as they do whenever he mentions Minho when they are alone like this.

 

“He died too,” Jonghyun continues, ignoring Sodam’s soft curse as she realizes she messed up her game. “In a car crash, apparently.”

 

Sodam’s eyes are focused on the screen and Jonghyun’s heart hollows. He turns to his other side, away from his sister.

 

Jonghyun’s perception of time is immaculate. Something he obtained after death from spending hours upon hours watching the clock during Sodam’s classes. He spends twenty-three minutes staring at the wall before a voice reaches him.

 

“Jjong?”

 

He springs off the bed to his feet, blood fizzing in his veins as he turns to face Minho—or just Minho’s head, really, as the rest of him is on the opposite side of the closed door.

 

“Min? What are you doing here?”

 

Minho, stepping into the bedroom, smirks. Distress perks in Jonghyun’s system and he rushes forward, placing his hands squarely on Minho’s chest and pushing them both backwards through the door and into the hallway. 

 

“Y-you can’t be in my sister’s room!” he explains, shoving his hands in his armpits and trying to ignore the sparks in them from touching Minho.

 

“Sorry. I don’t really think about stuff like that anymore,” Minho replies, shrugging coolly.

 

Jonghyun bites down on his lip. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

 

“I was wondering if you wanted to see a movie with me.”

 

“A movie?”

 

Minho nods. “Yeah. I haven’t gone for a while so there’s a bunch I haven’t seen, and since it’s a Friday the theater will be movies playing all night long. Do you want to come?” When Jonghyun doesn’t reply immediately, he continues, “It’s either movies or spend all night staring at the ceiling. Do you want to come? Or stare at your ceiling?”

 

Jonghyun snorts, wiggling his pinned fingers, which are beginning to ache from bloodlessness. “When you say it like that, I guess I can’t say no.”

 

“Good,” Minho replies, smiling. He reaches out a hand to Jonghyun’s arm, pulling it away from his chest and grabbing his forearm firmly. Jonghyun can feel his heat even through the sweater, or maybe that’s his own heat, his own nervousness now that is burning his skin right just beneath Minho’s grip. “We’ve got to hurry, since the first movie starts at about ten.” 

 

“O-okay,” Jonghyun agrees, dazed.

 

Minho leads him like this, so hurried Jonghyun trips over his own feet more than once, until they reach the movie theater. It is only as they are phasing through the front door that Minho releases Jonghyun’s forearm.

 

They pause for a moment in front of the showtimes, Minho searching for the right theater while Jonghyun curves his opposite hand upward to hold his forearm where Minho had before.

 

“Theater three,” Minho says after a moment,turning away from the showtimes to make his way up the stairs, Jonghyun following meekly. The don’t exchange another word until they make it into the dark theater itself, which is still playing trailers for upcoming movies. The audience is all around their age, or a little older, groups of friends killing a night together or couples who pushed up their arm rests to cuddle into each other.

 

Jonghyun watches as a patron pushes down the seat from a vertical position before seating himself and turns to face Minho, brow furrowing. “How are we supposed to sit down if we can’t push the seats down.

 

Minho leans toward Jonghyun and whispers into his ear. “I usually either either sit on the stairs or in the back row and lean against the wall. What do you want to do?”

 

Jonghyun ignores the fizzing at the base of his spine, pushing slightly away from Minho and his lips that are way too close to Jonghyun’s ear. Why was Minho even whispering? It’s not like they had to be quiet. “The back. There’s not a lot of people there, anyway.”

 

“Sounds good to me,” replies Minho.

 

They find two seats in the final row at a good distance from other parties. Pushing up onto the seats themselves, they sit atop them and lean back against the wall—Minho does this with considerable skill, while it takes Jonghyun a while to press himself against it but not go through.

 

By the time they are both settled the movie has begun. Guessing from the first scene of a overworked and pretty but blandly-dressed female office worker being fired, it is likely a comedy about this woman accomplishing her dream with an uninteresting heterosexual romance thrown in. On normal occasions, Jonghyun would have scoffed, but this wasn’t a normal occasion.

 

Minho’s arm is draped over his shoulders.

 

Despite the shock and joy sparking in his system, Jonghyun keeps his eyes on the screen because if he looks at Minho—oh god if he looks at him—there’s no way he would be able to hide everything that he’s feeling.

 

Minho does not remove his arm for the first fifteen minutes of the film, of which Jonghyun processes none because his mind is preoccupied by Minho’s fingers brushing against him almost lazily, the slight pressure of Minho’s chest on his side as Minho leads toward him.

 

After those fifteen minutes, however, Minho retracts his arm.

 

Jonghyun pushes down the disappointment in his system. It wasn’t anything real, nothing like what Jonghyun wanted, just Minho and his physically affectionate self. His friendly self.

 

Minho takes his cigarette from his pocket and soon has it lit.

 

Jonghyun bites down on his lip. He has to distract himself, but fuck he still wants Minho’s attention on him, not some crappy movie. “Are you still addicted?”

 

“Nah,” breathes Minho. His eyes flicker toward Jonghyun’s, making relief pop in his chest. “I was at first—or maybe I just thought I was—but now it’s just when I’m bored. Or when I’m with you, then it’s habit. Since I usually smoked when we were together.” Minho raises the cigarette to his lips and takes a drag, then pushes the smoke out between his teeth.

 

“You just get a kick out of smoking in places where you shouldn’t, don’t you?” Jonghyun teases, mentally sighing in relief because he managed to give a normal response.

 

Minho scoffs. “You got me.”

 

His eyes go back to the movie and Jonghyun turns to it himself. He hopes that when Minho finishes this cigarette, he’ll place his arm over Jonghyun’s shoulders again.

 

**

 

It is now early spring, the season heralded in by Sodam’s reddening eyes and enthusiasm in swallowing down allergy medication. Jonghyun feels the season too, the warmth on his skin. If he were alive, he’d be dressing in tank tops and shorts, showing off his shaved and well-toned legs, but he’s dead, so he is stuck in his sweater and torn jeans.

 

He and Minho have a system now. Jonghyun walks Sodam to school then waits outside the building for Kibum and Minho to arrive. Sometimes Kibum goes to school early for the art club, apparently, and on those days it is Minho waiting for Jonghyun. Either way, once the two are together, they make their way over to Minho’s house and sit by his pond, at least for a while. Then they might go to the movie theater or walk around in nearby stores, or head to the park a few blocks down, do whatever they could to entertain themselves until they both headed back to school to pick up their siblings.

 

They don’t spend every night together. On the nights when Minho does not come to his room, Jonghyun lies on his back in his bed and replays the last time they saw each other on his ceiling. Sometimes he crosses his arm over his own chest to touch his shoulder. He pretends it’s Minho’s hand.

 

**

 

“Do you want to see my room?”

 

Jonghyun turns to Minho, confusion distorting his figures. It is early afternoon on a Saturday and the two are on Minho’s swinging bench, Jonghyun having been picked up by Minho at his house about an hour earlier. “Your room?”

 

Minho nods. “Yeah. Do you want to go in there instead?”

 

Jonghyun has seen Minho’s bedroom so many times he has lost count. He has slept on both the bed and floor there on various occasions in their sleepovers over the years. He even knows the respective contents of each of the six drawers in Minho’s dresser. “Um, do you?”

 

“Kinda. It’d be a change of scenery.”

 

“I’m getting pretty bored of your ugly face, to be honest,” Jonghyun replies mockingly.

 

Minho huffs as he pushes himself from the bench. “Yeah yeah.”

 

Jonghyun follows Minho into his house through the backdoor, which leads into the joint living and kitchen space. The Choi family abode is rather simple and plain, all of the furniture either a rusty orange or a faded blue. The TV in the living room is practically ancient but is also the greatest love of Minho’s father, who works diligently to keep it alive and well. The kitchen is rather sparse, or at least far sparser than one would imagine a kitchen serving five people would look. Neither of Minho’s parents are good cooks, so the family relies primarily on take-out and frozen food. There is a single round wooden table off to the side of the kitchen, which was intended for regular family dinners but honestly had probably not hosted all five at once in years.

 

Behind the rather well-loved couch in the living room are the stairs; newly-carpeted, Jonghyun notices as they trek upward.

 

They pass by the master bedroom and Kibum and Taemin’s room until they reach the end of the hall and phase through Minho’s bedroom door.

 

“Just like I remember it,” Jonghyun mutters, a smile smile growing on his face. “Maybe a little cleaner, though.”

 

Minho laughs, throwing himself onto his bed face-first. Jonghyun sits on it himself, though more carefully—Minho has much greater control over his semi-permeability than Jonghyun.

 

Jonghyun’s eyes wander over the room; the dresser which he knows, the half-empty closet, the window beside it which is weighty and difficult for Minho to open. The memories of this room are clear in his mind. He can feel the carpet under his toes, taste the smuggled alcohol that Minho tucks under his bed. He is about to ask Minho if it is still under there when the exhale of the door being pushed open turns his attention to Minho’s brother, Kibum.

 

Kibum is fifteen-year-old with black hair combed carefully over one eye. He curves one hand over the side of the door, peering inward as though intruding. After a moment of this silent observance, he enters the room and heads toward Minho’s closet.

 

Kibum swings open the door and reaches in with a confident hand. Jonghyun’s eyes widen when he pulls out Minho’s jacket.

 

He turns back to Minho. “T-that’s your jacket!”

 

Minho runs a finger absent-mindedly over the teeth of his unzipped leather jacket, the same one that Kibum is now sliding his arms through. “Yeah, he’s worn it a couple of times now.” He narrows his eyes at Jonghyun. “Speaking of siblings stealing clothes, isn’t that Sodam’s sweater?”

 

“Yeah, so?” Jonghyun replies defensively, turning away from Minho to watch his brother play zip and unzip the jacket repeatedly as he looks into the mirror on the inside of the closet door. “It looks better on me anyway.”

 

“I was about to say the same thing.”

 

Heat flares in Jonghyun’s cheeks. He keeps his eyes on Kibum, who is running his fingers through his hair and leaning into the mirror to get a better look at his face. He’s just teasing you, just being his normal, friendly self…

 

“I can’t believe you’re wearing those shoes though,” Minho continues. Jonghyun frowns and lifts his feet to stare at his immaculate white Converse. Minho, crawling forward on his elbows, enters the corner of Jonghyun’s vision. He stretches out his arm and wraps his long fingers around Jonghyun’s ankle. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear these before.”

 

Jonghyun nods. “Yeah, I was so worried about getting them dirty, so I was saving them for something important.”

 

Minho releases his ankle and looks at his brother once more. “Any idea why you wore them?”

 

“No, I don’t remember a thing,” Jonghyun exhales. He raises his head to see Kibum pull tenderly at the sleeves of Minho’s jacket. “It looks good on him.”

 

A smile lines Minho’s voice as he speaks. “Yeah. He’s grown up a lot. His shoulders got really broad.”

 

Kibum, finally deeming his outfit perfect, makes his way to the door and shuts it softly behind him. 

 

Minho and Jonghyun are left again alone in the bedroom. Jonghyun asks if it’s okay for him to look at Minho’s sketches and Minho, propping himself up against his pillows to light a cigarette, gives him permission.

 

Jonghyun has seen a lot of these already, as Minho had never really had any qualms about showing his work to Jonghyun. He used to draw a lot when they were freshmen and sophomores, but became so busy with school work, a part-time job at the nearby grocery store and maintaining his car that he would only sketch late at night, usually while talking to Jonghyun on the phone. Jonghyun had actually fallen asleep a few times listening to the soft scratches of pencil against paper.

 

He runs a finger over the black trunk of a willow tree, pretending the roughness of the paper is actually the unevenness of its bark. “Do you ever miss drawing?”

 

Minho hesitates a beat before answering. He taps the butt of his cigarette, ash piling up on his jacket. “Sometimes.”

 

Jonghyun inhales deeply, raising his head from the desk. “I miss talking to my sister,” he admits lowly.

 

“You guys were really close.”

 

Now it is Jonghyun’s turn to pause.  _ Were _ , not are. 

 

“Yeah,” he exhales.

 

The door swings open again, probably Kibum rethinking his outfit. Or so Jonghyun thought before he notices Minho’s surprised expression, cigarette hanging dangerously from his lip.

 

Jonghyun twists at the waist to see Minho’s mother enter the room, shutting the door behind her. She is a short, round woman with hair far grayer than Jonghyun remembers.

 

They watch in stunned silence as Minho’s mother makes her way to Minho’s dresser and plus out the drawer which holds Minho’s socks and underwear. She rummages through it for a few seconds before retracting her hands and, leaving the drawer partially open, places something on the bed. Jonghyun steps toward the bed, eyes settling on the single cigarette, black ashtray and lighter pressing down against Minho’s comforter.

 

His eyes flash to Minho, who has pushed himself from the pillows. His eyes are trained on his mother as she forces open the window with a grunt, then turns back to sit on the bed. She pushes the cigarette between her lips and lights it with a practiced ease before tossing the lighter back onto the comforter and pulling the ashtray to her side.

 

“I didn’t know you mother smoked,” Jonghyun mutters thoughtlessly.

 

“I didn’t either.” Minho swings his legs over the side of the bed to sit up straight. He adjusts his position so he is beside his mother, only the ashtray between them.

 

Minho’s mother lets out a half-sigh with each smoky exhale. When she taps her cigarette against the ashtray, Minho does the same.

 

**

 

It is Jonghyun’s birthday.

 

It is Jonghyun’s birthday, and his family has decided to throw a party for him and raise donations for the animal shelter. There are about eighty guests gathered in his backyard—former teachers, classmates, old friends and family. The local animal shelter brought over a dozen puppies, which yap and play-fight in a space enclosed by a wire fence. There is a cotton candy machine which hums as it churns out pink candy floss and a popcorn maker which hisses a salty, buttery aroma into the air.

 

It is Jonghyun’s birthday.

 

And Minho is not here.

 

Minho has not come yet and it is 2 pm and the party started at noon.

 

Jonghyun, of course, had noticed this immediately, but had pushed it to the back of his mind. It was too easy to distract himself with watching people enter his backyard or lying on the ground with the puppies. If dogs are really able to detect ghosts, it’s not a skill they acquire until later in life, as Jonghyun is ignored by the pups just as he is by humans.

 

He stares into the cotton candy machine as Sodam twists a white cone around its center until it holds an airy, pink cloud.

 

He stands with his old teachers as they share anecdotes of “what a good kid he was.” He cannot distract himself with this for very long, as it is only a number of minutes before Minho is brought up and he hurries away to a group of students. His ribs are tightening over his heart and lungs painfully.

 

If he thinks about it, he can make it stop. Can breathe normally, take away the twisting and discomfort in his system with just a thought.

 

But it also takes just a thought to derail him, and when one of the students mutters, “Minho, too,” Jonghyun’s lungs crawl into his throat. He runs to the side of the house, the entranceway through which all the guests are arriving.

 

“He’ll be here soon,” Jonghyun mutters, collapsing onto the ground and letting out a shaking sigh. “He’s going to come. I told him about it before. He knows. He’s going to come.”

 

Minho had missed his own birthday, still “asleep,” so the idea of attending Jonghyun’s had been exhilarating to the both of them.

 

“Maybe we can figure out what happened to you,” he had said, to which Jonghyun had bit down on his lip and nodded numbly.

 

He now knows that discovering the method of his death is more difficult to avoid rather than uncover. He is standing at its cliff, one false move and he will slide down, will crash and tumble against harsh rocks until he reaches the bottom—an answer he is not even certain he wants to find.

 

And definitely not like this, without Minho to cushion his fall.

 

He raises his head, having pressed his forehead to his knees without even noticing. His eyes immediately fall on the family that has just entered his backyard, their footsteps unsure on account of their lateness. Kibum takes Taemin’s hand and leads to him to a group of his friends, who greet both with small smiles and compassionate pats on the back. Minho’s parents find Jonghyun’s mother almost immediately, and they speak in voices so low that even if Jonghyun were standing just beside them he’s not sure he would be able to hear.

 

But Jonghyun is not thinking about their words, about their deaths, not now. Not sitting on the dry earth on his birthday, his first birthday after his death, surrounded by people he sees almost every day but do not look at him.

 

Not while his heart is breaking apart, the pieces clattering against his ribcage as they fall down. Now he’s fucking cold. He’s fucking scared. And where the fuck is Minho?

 

Minho should be here. He should be here.

 

Jonghyun pushes himself up onto his feet so forcefully he almost falls forward. He finds his balance, somehow, and begins to run.

 

Minho should be here.

 

But he’s not.

 

Jonghyun doesn’t know how this bullshit works. Maybe Minho had suddenly ascended. Moved on. Maybe he’d found some stupid reason to leave, or some object he’d been forgetting about, or somehow came to peace with this. Maybe he just thought too fucking hard.

 

“Fuck,” Jonghyun gasped. His limbs are numb even as they pump into the air and push him across streets and over sidewalks. His heart still feels as though it is in pieces, scattered over his intestines. Fear and sadness coil over his brain like a snake, squeezing and squeezing until his thoughts become a single, buzzing phrase:

 

_ Please don't be gone. _

 

He arrives at Minho's backyard, eyes trained on the door leading into the main house. Alertness spikes in his veins as he spies the shed in his periphery. 

 

"Oh god," he mutters, changing his direction to spring toward the shed. "Oh fucking..."

 

Without slowing his steps he phases through the door and into the shed. A tan sheet had been thrown over the car, hiding its disfigurement.

 

Minho is not inside.

 

"Thank fuck," Jonghyun exhales. If Minho had been in there, staring at the car or sitting in it or... Jonghyun doesn't know what he would have done.

 

He turns and sprints out of the shed, racing straight through the door to Minho's house. Inside, he pauses. His fingers twitch as he calls out, "Minho! Minho, are you here?"

 

Silence.

 

"Minho?" he repeats. Fear prods him like a thorny plant growing up his spine. "Minho!"

 

"I'm here!" Jonghyun's head snaps in the direction of the stairs. "I’m up here, Jonghyun."

 

With those few words which echo down the stairs and in Jonghyun's ears, his heart glues itself back together. It clicks back into its cavity and warmth rushes through his veins once more. He climbs the stairs and turns into Minho's bedroom. His eyes pause momentarily on the dresser--the top drawer, where Minho's mother had produced the cigarette, is slightly open.

 

Jonghyun gasps, his attention diverted as Minho rushes toward him and grabs his shoulders. Eyes wide, fingers digging deeply into Jonghyun's flesh, he mutters, "Jonghyun. What's the last thing you remember?"

 

"W-what do you mean?

 

His grip tightens. Minho’s eyes, lit with emotion, bore into Jonghyun’s. "Before you died. What's the last thing you remember?"

 

Jonghyun twists away from Minho's hands. "What's going on?"

 

Turning away from him, Minho groans and twists his hands in his hair. He paces toward the window. "I need to know,” he groans. “Okay. I need to know."

 

"Min--"

 

"Jjong!" Minho's voice cuts sharply through the air. "Please. Please, Jjong," he breathes, desperate. "For the love of fuck, I need to know. I need you to think."

 

"I-I already told you. I just remember the English test."

 

Minho takes a step forward. "Did you take it?"

 

"I don't know! I already told you I don't know!"

 

"Jonghyun, please." Minho sits down on his bed heavily, as though he had fallen onto it. He faces away from Jonghyun. "I... have to know what was going on when I died, okay? I really need to know right now." On that final word, his voice cracked, and Jonghyun felt himself splinter.

 

"Minho," he exhaled. He slid onto the bed with his knees, shuffling toward his friend. "What about your memories?"

 

"A party. I just remember a party. Like every other goddamn party."

 

Jonghyun bites down on his lip and closes his eyes. Okay, there was a test. An English test. His teacher was an elderly woman with hair dyed an unsightly shade of orange, almost sickly. She had an exaggerated interest in Shakespeare.

 

Shakespeare.

 

His eyes snap open. "It was something from Shakespeare."

 

Throwing one arm back and leaning against it, Minho twists to face Jonghyun. "What?"

 

"The test!” Jonghyun blurts. “It must've been on one of Shakespeare's plays. I... I kind of remember that."

 

Minho presses his fingers to his temple. "Shakespeare. Oh fuck. Um. Well, we read  _ Romeo and Juliet _ a year ago, and  _ Richard the Third _ and  _ Henry the Sixth _ back then, too. So it had to have been some--"

 

" _ Hamlet _ ! It was  _ Hamlet _ ." Jonghyun's heart beats frenziedly against his chest, his memories bringing with them a rush of adrenaline. "We had just read Hamlet and that fucker who always chewed gum read the last page aloud and I remember him just fucking smacking h--"

 

"Do you remember the test?" Minho interrupts pointedly.

 

Jonghyun grimaces. "I don't know... I don’t remember"

 

"Whatever. If the test happened, you must have taken it on a Friday."

 

"A Friday?"

 

Minho slides backward on the bed, nodding his head. "Our English teacher always had tests on Fridays."

 

"What does this have to do with your memories? I can't remember you, I'm not sure if you hadn't already..." his voice loses power, swallowed up by the tension in the room and his own emotions.

 

"Do you remember any parties?"

 

Jonghyun sighs. "No I... don't remember anything about a party. You were always the one who went to parties and stuff, too. Not me."

 

"Yeah, but I can't think straight."

 

"Neither can I!" Jonghyun snaps. He catches himself and inhales noisily. "Can you tell me what's going on, Minho? I don't know anything about parties."

 

Minho's eyes widen. "Seohyun."

 

Jonghyun’s brows furrow. "My neighbor?"

 

"It was Seohyun's party," Minho mumbles. His hand lifts from the bed to scratch at his lip as his eyes focus on Jonghyun's. "I went to Seohyun's party."

 

"Seohyun's never had a party before," Jonghyun replies dismissively. "She wouldn't. Her parents are strict and she's too shy."

 

"S-she did, though. I remember someone threw up her in pool."

 

Frustration bubbles in Jonghyun's stomach. "Minho. She wouldn't do that."

 

"But she did. She did and..." Minho's voice trails off, and now it seems his eyes might slide out of their sockets. "You were there."

 

"What? I don't go to parties, Minho. I don't like to drink or any of that shit."

 

Minho leans forward, shaking his head rapidly. "You were there! I-I remember. You were worried because so many people showed up that you came over from across the street... you were going to take me home but I wasn't drunk."

 

A wave of dizziness crashes against Jonghyun's skull. His senses fill with the smell of alcohol and sweat, lined with sour vomit. Gooseflesh breaks out over his arms. He remembers it. His t-shirt sticking to his chest as he pushed through the crowd of his intoxicated peers. Hiding an expensive candlestick in a desk drawer. Pushing a stoned kid out the door.

 

And he remembers Minho. And his lips hum with energy.

 

"Oh my god," he exhales. "I... I was there...?"

 

"Yes! You remember!" Minho pushes closer toward him, the distance between their eyes less than a foot now. "I remember it too. I remember being at the party with you."

 

Jonghyun's lips haven't stopped twitching, and they send static through his face, and down his neck, and it collects like a ball of lightning in his chest.

 

And he's staring at Minho. At Minho's long lashes, at his rounded eyes and his cheeks bright with color.

 

And he looks down at Minho's lips.

 

And he remembers them. Against his.

 

"D-did we..." The words spill from his mouth thoughtlessly, barely sounded as he struggles to connect his thoughts as his body remembers before his mind can catch up. "Did we--"

 

Minho cuts him off by leaning forward and crashing their lips together.

 

And Jonghyun realizes immediately that he's felt this before. Minho's kiss.

 

He remembers Minho's tongue pressing against the crease of his lips to part them. Just as he's doing now.

 

But he doesn't remember what happens after that and he doesn't let himself.

 

Jonghyun shoves Minho back so hard he throws his hands back to catch himself. They press against the mattress with an audible squeal as he groans, "J-Jjong!"

 

“Don’t do this, Minho.” Jonghyun runs the back of his hand over his lips, then rubs his skin vigorously over them until they’re almost raw. His mind is ablaze, ribs tightening over his organs with every strained breath. “Don’t.”

 

Minho does not straighten, only leans back against his hands as he mumbles, “Don’t do what?”

 

“Don’t kiss me.”

 

The words fell from Jonghyun’s mouth like stones he had been holding on his tongue. He did not have to think of them, or push them out. They just fell, and they were heard.

 

Minho hesitates. “We kissed before. At the party.”

 

“You were drunk.”

 

Again, Minho is thrown-off-guard. He opens and closes his mouth repeatedly, which gives Jonghyun enough time to quell the disease stirring in his system and the thoughts burning themselves into his skull.

 

“I wasn’t.” Minho’s claim slides into Jonghyun’s mind like a knife. “Neither of us were.”

 

Jonghyun’s hands curl into fists. “I remember. You tasted like alcohol.”

 

“I had a can but that was it. I fucking swear, Jongh--”

 

“Then why did you kiss me?” Jonghyun interrupts. His heart is beating so rapidly it hurts. “You get drunk and kiss people at parties, right? That’s what you do. So why would you kiss  _ me _ , your fucking friend, sober?”

 

“Because I wanted to.”

 

All the blood freezes in Jonghyun’s body, every cell in his body pausing as his eyes latch onto Minho’s. Jonghyun feels as though the world has quadrupled in size, everything except him. Like he could be swallowed up by the surrounding air itself. 

 

Minho straightens slightly, eyes angled downward toward his hands as he rubs them over the tops of his thighs as though to dry them.

 

“What… what are you saying?” Jonghyun breathes, the words chafing against his lips.

 

“I wanted to kiss you,” Minho repeats. As though that explains everything. As though it’s the key to a door Jonghyun has been struggling to open.

 

Except he hasn’t.

 

It’s a door he, while alive, had bolted closed himself. Though it hurt. Having Minho as his friend was better than not having Minho at all--and confessing would have risked their friendship entirely.

 

And now,  Minho not only has the key but has swung that door wide-open.

 

But they are both dead.

 

Jonghyun pushes himself from the bed and Minho moves to stand up himself, but freezes when Jonghyun hisses, “ _ No _ .” Minho glances up at him, eyes confused and hurt. Jonghyun swallows thickly, holding back the emotions roaring in the back of his mind. “Stay here.”

 

“But Jong--”

 

“I need to be alone, okay, Minho? Okay?”

 

They stare at each other for a while; Jonghyun standing, his hands at his sides curled into fists. Minho’s twist together on his lap as his legs bounce from nervousness or excitement or with the desire to jump to his feet and kiss Jonghyun again.

 

Jonghyun’s lips burn as he turns away from Minho and exits the room. He tastes cigarettes, beer, and Minho.

 

**

 

He wanders around for a few hours until finally his feet lead him back home. All remnants of the party have disappeared from the backyard aside from the lingering smell of sugar and salt and the miserable state of the grass underfoot. The house itself is tranquil and dark when Jonghyun enters, the only lights slipping out beneath the doors leading to Jinki’s room and to their mother’s.

 

Jonghyun slides into Sodam’s room. She is only a quiet, sleeping figure in her bed, covers pulled up to her chin. Fortunately for Jonghyun, she has always had a habit of sleeping on one side of the bed, as though she were sharing it with some invisible partner.

 

Tonight, that partner is Jonghyun, and he relaxes onto his back to stare up at her ceiling. He counts his breaths as though sheep and even closs his eyes to sleep. As with every time he has tried, sleep remains distant, like an unreachable star.

 

He holds out for a while, listening to Sodam’s sluggish breaths.

 

After about an hour, he sighs, and with it the words he wants to say, the words which would have spilled from his mouth immediately if he were alive--which probably did glide off his tongue over a year before--fly from his mouth.

 

“I kissed Minho.”

 

Sodam does not react.

 

Jonghyun inhales noisily. “When I was alive. And just now too.”

 

Shifting onto his side, he feels himself slipping into the mattress itself. His eyes snap open and he lifts first both his legs and then his torso until he is again properly situated on the bed. He stares up at Sodam’s ceiling and asks her, “Do you…know what happened after that?”

 

**

 

Jonghyun resists remembering. It should be easy, as he has already spent so many months without uncovering any memories. They have to excavated, brushed off, turned over again and again in his hand, peered through multiple different angles as though a kaleidoscope for one to solidify in his mind.

 

He erects a wall in his mind, his present self on one side and his uncovered memories on the other.

 

Minho sits on the wall, cigarette dangling carelessly from his lips. He straddles it so one leg is on each side. Whenever he crosses Jonghyun’s thoughts, the wall crumbles.

 

As the hours tick by, they fall over top each other and form a ladder, and the memories begin to climb up it with the slightest provocation.

 

While watching TV with his siblings, Jinki finally puts down the remote on a movie he and Minho had watched during a sleepover together, years ago and Jonghyun suddenly recalls Minho’s hot breath over his neck. His back aches, crammed against the steering wheel as Jonghyun rubs his hands slowly over the tops of Jonghyun’s thighs before slowly making their way around the curve of his body. His fingers slide into the back pockets of Jonghyun’s jeans.

 

Sodam bites into a peach.  _ We sexted. _

 

His mother comes home with a coffee.  _ A clich _ _ éd coffee shop date. _

 

With every memory that resurfaces, Jonghyun feels like he has died all over again.

 

Jonghyun spends the week following his kiss with Minho trailing Jinki rather than Sodam. His fourth grade classes are significantly more boring, as Jinki and his classmates are only now going over the fundamentals of long division.

 

Still, Jonghyun would rather spend his time wandering aimlessly through the halls of Jinki’s elementary school than risk running into Minho. Anxiety still scratches at the back of his mind, fear rising in his throat at the idea of something happening to Sodam while he’s away. Whatever happened to him, maybe.

 

She comes home every day as healthy and alive as she had left in the morning.

 

Jonghyun lies with her at night before she sleeps. That hasn’t changed. Sodam yawns and scrolls through her phone, occasionally exhaling a half-hearted chuckle when something amuses her.  Jonghyun talks to her back. About Jinki’s day. He runs out of things to say after only a few minutes.

 

When Sodam finally tucks her phone away, Jonghyun excuses himself from her bedroom and drifts into his own. The blinds over his window are wide open, letting cool moonlight cast the room in a soft bluish-hue. Jonghyun situates himself tenderly on the bed, careful not to shift through it.

 

He sighs and tries not to think about Minho. He does math in his head. Ninety-two divided by seven. One-hundred-twelve by six. Two-hundred-sixty-nine by three.

 

“Why are you avoiding me?”

 

Jonghyun springs up, his pulse thrumming through his eardrums. Minho is standing at his door, arms hanging by his side and face pale.

 

“Minho.” The name falls from his lips like a weight he had kept hidden under his tongue.

 

“Please, Jonghyun,” Minho continues. “You have to remember.”

 

“Why are you doing this?”

 

Minho had clearly not been expecting the question, as his brows furrow together. “What are you saying?”

 

“I’m saying, what’s the fucking point? You’re dead. I’m dead.”

 

“So?”

 

“ _ So _ ?” Jonghyun repeats, laced with anger. He waves his arms through the air. “I’m over, and you’re over. And whatever the fuck we had between us is over, too.”

 

A beat. Then Minho’s voice. Softly. “You said you loved me.”

 

The day after the party, Minho had texted him. They had to talk. Jonghyun’s heart had been in his stomach as he walked toward Minho’s house. He was worried their friendship was over, that Minho had been so humiliated by drunkenly making out with his best friend that he no longer wanted to even associate with Jonghyun. Some stupid part of him worried that Minho would say it was a mistake. The rest of him knew Minho would say this and had accepted it.

 

They sat on the swinging bench and Minho brought it up almost immediately. The kiss.  _ I wasn’t drunk; I only had one beer. You just… you looked so good. Your shirt was so tight I wanted to wrap my hands around your waist and I loved the look of skin through the rips in your jeans and you were nervous so you kept biting at your lip and I wanted to kiss you. And you let me. I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long. _

 

Jonghyun, clenching his eyes shut, clamps down on his lip and the pain banishes the memory to some dark corner of his mind. When he opens his eyes, Minho has neared the bed by a half-step. 

 

“That doesn’t matter,” Jonghyun snaps, as coldly as he fucking can even though he feels like he’s been lit aflame.

 

“Of course it matters! It matters! It mattered back then and it matters now. I love you and you love me. That hasn’t changed, right?”

 

Minho’s voice wavers as though clinging to the air for purchase. It’s weak and needy and it drives hooks into Jonghyun’s heart. “...It hasn’t changed, right?”

 

Jonghyun exhales, “It hasn’t.”

 

“Then why does anything else matter?” 

 

“Because we’re dead! We’re fucking dead!” Jonghyun puts a hand in his hair, pulling at the strands as the words slip from his mouth uncontrollably. “Everything’s over. We can’t be anything anymore.  _ I _ am not anything anymore. I’m sitting here, staying in this house day after day, watching over my fucking family and they don’t know I’m here. They don’t know jack shit.

 

“And don’t act like you’re the same, okay?” Jonghyun’s emotions are rising in his system, gripping at his lungs and tearing them down down down. “You can fucking slam doors and move stuff. Your family knows you’re there. You’re still something to them, you’re still a part of them. Me? I’m nothing. Everything’s over. And I fucking look at you now and I think about what we were, what we became and… I feel like I died all over again.”

 

Jonghyun’s breathing is labored and every syllable strains against his vocal chords. A knot has somehow made its way into his throat, choking every syllable. He stares directly into Minho’s eyes, hands curling into fists. “I had you. Like how I’ve wanted you for so fucking long. But you’re just another thing I lost. We can’t be anything. I’m over.”

 

The tears fall freely from Jonghyun’s eyes as a choked sob finally escapes his throat. He sniffles loudly, breathing in once sharply as he watches Minho step forward. He sits at the foot of the bed and the mattress groans with his weight. He and Jonghyun are facing each other but Jonghyun’s vision is marred by tears and Minho’s unfocused. His fingers tug thoughtlessly at the strands dangling from the holes in his jeans.

 

Minho exhales loudly. “I spent the first few weeks after I woke up letting my family know I was there. I knocked things over. Pens, books. I even broke a plate. One night I was so desperate for attention I slammed the back door shut, opened it, and then slammed it again over and over. The whole night. I spent a couple nights doing that, actually.”

 

He angles his chin upward, staring up at the blue-tinted ceiling. “And you know what?” He sucks in a heady breath and then sighs loudly. “It was awful. For all of us. They were miserable and sleep-deprived. They didn’t know it was me. Maybe at the beginning, but I was so desperate for their attention I became like a demon. All I did was keep them up at night and make their everyday lives harder. They probably just thought god had decided to torture them again.”

 

Minho lowers his head and refocuses his gaze on Jonghyun. “We’re not a part of their world anymore, Jonghyun. And just because I can manipulate some objects doesn’t make me anything different from you. I’m gravity, or a breeze. You have to let it go.”

 

Jonghyun shakes his head minutely. “I can’t. I have to let them know. Sodam and Jinki and Mom…”

 

“They already know,” Minho whispers. “They know that you love them. And that you miss them. They know, and they feel the same way. But they’re lives are still going, and, fuck, Jonghyun, you’re not alone. You don’t have to just follow them around like there’s nothing else in the world.”

 

Jonghyun gulps for air as though he is drowning. “Minho…” Minho leans forward, taking one of Jonghyun’s hand into his and gripping it so tightly it hurt.

 

“I love you too, Jonghyun,” Minho mutters. “I love you. I fell in love with you before I realized it. Over a year. I was with other people because I thought that I just cared about you as a friend, but it started to feel wrong. I could only think about you. And I’m sorry I forgot that I confessed to you. I’m so fucking sorry, Jonghyun.”

 

He clamps his other hand over theirs and inhales shakily, staring down at their joined hands. “But I’m here. And I see you.” He raises his head again, eyes shining with tears. “You’re not gravity or a breeze to me. You’re Jonghyun. I see you. I love you.”

 

Jonghyun cracks, a heavy sob shattering in his chest and sending tremors through his veins. His skin runs hot and cold all at once except his hand where Minho is holding him. There’s only warmth there, a comfortable warmth Jonghyun wants to surround himself in.

 

He inhales, lungs struggling to gather air and pressing against his ribcage. “I love you, too.”

 

Minho smiles, his eyes curving into crescents glittering with tears. He lowers his head and kisses the top of Jonghyun’s hand. “I’m so glad,” he whispers. “I’m so glad.”

 

**

 

Jonghyun can’t get used to it immediately. Minho’s embrace or his lips, soft and wet against his neck.

 

Over the weeks, Jonghyun and Minho have, together, uncovered their memories concerning each other following that initial kiss. The dates;  Minho’s excited, twitching hands; and how snuggly he fits in Minho’s arms.

 

A few days after they have closed the gaps in their memories, Jonghyun begins to wonder how he died. No matter how hard he or Jonghyun concentrated, both of their memories ended with the other still happy and healthy. In the back of his mind, Jonghyun began to wonder if he had been in the car with Minho.

 

It doesn’t matter either way, he guesses. They’re both just dead now.

 

They spend an entire day at the moving theater and the neighboring restaurants. They sit at an empty table for ‘dinner’ before heading over toward the theater and settling into their seats at the back. Minho’s arm slides behind Jonghyun’s back, who leans into his shoulder and lets out a comfortable sigh.

 

It’s late when they finally leave the theater and collapse on the grass by Minho’s pond. Jonghyun rests his head on Minho’s chest, listening to the thud of his heart and the soft, almost negligible chirps of nocturnal insects and distant music. The air around them is cool and fresh, alive with the energy of the coming summer.

 

Jonghyun gasps when Minho’s hand slides under his sweater, fingers tracing lightly over his spine. “M-Min!” he stutters, raising his head.

 

Minho smiles back at him mischievously. “What?”

 

“We’re in public…”

 

Minho huffs. “No one can see us, Jonghyun.” He presses his palm flat over the small of Jonghyun’s back. His opposite hand lifts Jonghyun’s chin and the two kiss softly. “Plus,” he breathes against Jonghyun’s lips, sending shivers over his spine, “it’s so scenic here.”

 

“Shut up,” Jonghyun mumbles, leaning in toward Minho’s lips again. Every time they separate he aches for them again, lips buzzing with electricity and need. Nothing has ever felt so good as Minho.

 

Minho pushes himself upward, adjusting their positions until Jonghyun is lying on his back, legs spread and Minho between them. Minho grins victoriously, lifting the bottom of Jonghyun’s sweater to peck softly at his stomach, slowly pulling the sweater higher and higher until he wraps his lips over a hardening nipple.

 

Jonghyun pulls off the sweater and Minho follows suit with his jacket and tee. He descends on Jonghyun again, their lips meeting hungrily as Jonghyun’s hands slide over his form. Minho keens forward when Jonghyun pulls at a nipple, and Jonghyun digs his fingers into Minho’s pockets.

 

He pulls away from Minho’s mouth, grinning. “Found it,” he mutters, retracting his hand to show Minho the condom between his fingers.

 

Minho snorts, lowering his head to lave his tongue over the side of Jonghyun’s neck. “I don’t think ghosts have STDs.”

 

“Yeah, but it’s been waiting for this moment,” Jonghyun explains. “This was in your pocket for me. And now I’m here.”

 

Minho sighs against his skin. “Fine.” He presses his forehead to Jonghyun’s. “I’ll wear it.”

 

Jonghyun grins, his unoccupied hand sliding down Minho’s back to unbutton his jeans.

 

The rest of their clothes are lost quickly. Minho places his leather jacket beneath Jonghyun so he’s more comfortable before he begins prep, which is slow and careful. Minho presses kisses over Jonghyun’s chest and neck continuously while Jonghyun’s fingers knead into Minho’s biceps, tightening whenever Minho quirks his finger in a certain way.

 

Minho wears the condom, pushing the wrapper into one of Jonghyun’s hands as proof. Jonghyun, already half-dazed from being stretched, smiles lazily before letting it fall from his hand so he could hold onto Minho again.

 

Minho’s pace is restrained and gentle. They kiss and their hands wander, flicking a nipple or twisting in the other’s hair as they recall each other, the feel of their warm bodies from the few times they had slept together while alive. It’s the same. Minho feels the same. He’s warm and he feels good inside of Jonghyun.

 

When they both finish, Minho flops over onto his back on the grass and Jonghyun again slides right beside him, propping his head up on Minho’s chest as their hearts, racing, slowly return to a more normal speed.

 

“The stars are so pretty,” Minho mutters almost to himself. Jonghyun, his eyes closed, hums in agreement.

 

“They’re prettier when you don’t think of them as burning balls of gas.”

 

Minho snorts. “Way to kill the mood.”

 

“Stars are sad,” he mumbles into Minho’s sweat-streaked skin. “They burn and burn until they die. But they’re so far away that we still see their light here even if they burned out thousands of years ago.”

 

“That’s… kind of like us.”

 

Jonghyun raises his head, staring down at Minho with his brow furrowed. “How so?”

 

Minho throws his arms behind his head. “I mean. We’re dead too, but we’re still here, you know? We can still do things, even if it’s not the same as before. The star might not be burning anymore but it’s still giving light. And we may not be alive but we’re still us, you know?”

 

An idea sparks in the back of Jonghyun’s mind. “Do you… think other dead things might be like stars?”

 

Minho blinks. “What do you mean?”

 

Jonghyun pushes himself up to a seated position with a grunt. “Come on,” he says, trying to hold back on the excitement biting at his tongue. “I want to try something.”

 

The two dress and Jonghyun takes Minho’s hand in his, pulse thrumming excitedly as he pulls him across the backyard. Once Minho realizes where they’re headed, his fingers tighten over Jonghyun’s. “Jonghyun, this is--”

 

“It’s worth a shot,” Jonghyun explains, phasing through the door into the shed. “What if it works?”

 

“What if the car that I died in  _ works _ ?” Without releasing one hand from Jonghyun’s, Minho takes hold of the tarp and throws it off, exposing the car and its wrecked form. “It’s totaled.”

 

“And you’re dead but you’re holding my hand,” Jonghyun replies.

 

“Where would we go?”

 

Jonghyun shrugs. “I don’t know… maybe far.” He focuses his eyes on Minho’s. “But we have to come back to visit our families after a while. Get in.”

 

Jonghyun walks through the driver’s side door, phasing through the divider to seat himself shotgun. He finally releases Minho’s hand, watching as his boyfriend runs his hand over the steering wheel.

 

“We don’t have keys,” Minho states after a while.   
  


“Try anyway. Don’t look at me like that, Minho. Just... try to drive.”

 

Minho sighs yet again, tapping his hands against the wheel. “Alright. Alright.” He lowers his hand to the gear stick between them and Jonghyun’s heart leaps into his throat.

 

Sodam will be okay. Jinki will be okay. His mother will be okay. Kibum and Taemin and Minho’s parents will be okay, too.

 

Minho’s thumb presses into the button on the side with a low click, then he pushes the gear forward and the engine roars to  **life** .


End file.
